


black.

by oceandesertworld



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angry Kylo Ren, Angst, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo is a Mess, Drabble, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Forbidden Love, Force-Sensitive Reader, Implied Relationships, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Movie: Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Reader-Insert, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:27:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22165624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceandesertworld/pseuds/oceandesertworld
Summary: Kylo Ren hates his name. The way it slips from your lips, a beg, a promise, of something he cannot promise in return. Some days, it's bittersweet, a guilty pleasure — others, like today, it is a bullet shot clean through his soul. He desperately wants to capture that horrid name as it trickles into the air, and lodge it so far down your throat, you choke on it.
Relationships: Ben Solo/Reader, Kylo Ren/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58





	black.

He circles you, like that of a python.

Each step calculated, meticulous, and balanced, but with just the right ounce of mess to make it his own.

Kylo Ren knows you— but not nearly as much as he so prides himself on. You have been the doll he placed on a pedestal, shiny and new, with a glare that resonates deep within his ribcage; _rattles_ him. 

_"Easy,"_ Kylo warns, his tone cautious but challenging. His shoulders are slumped, hilt of his blade tossed between each palm like a ball. _A child,_ it seems to scream at you, _you are but a child— ignorant and eager._

He's playing with you. You know it too, and allow him this victory. The way his eyes burn, he _needs_ it— else his pride be bruised.

Kylo Ren, the man destined to lead the First Order, a hellish organization, is _weak_.

He's a paper man, you spit within the confines of your own mind. Kylo senses the way you mock him simply by gauging the expression on your face— A sneer rooted deep in your bones, and Kylo can _feel_ his once firm grip on you loosen.

It hangs on a thread, always threatening to slip over the edge.

But you humor the bulky child and play house. Kylo doesn't _want_ or _need_ to pressure you into submission— you do it yourself, but with just enough rivalry and rebellion to leave the flavor in his mouth a bittersweet one.

Kylo licks his lips as he circles you, a scarlet saber confined in one massive palm— His eyes glint from the blade, illuminating the wavering that foretells his imminent fall.

He feigns determination— the only realistic thing about it is how hard he is trying to believe it himself.

He wants, no, _needs_ , to believe.

His entire being— everything he's ever done, every decision he's made— teeters on the fence, and he cannot fail. His choices have led him here, and faltering in them proves to him that they may have been in vain.

He needs to believe, because every poor decision he's ever made had a horrid consequence— and it is too late to question them— too late to turn back.

You swing first, a rapid and buzzing blade cutting through the air like a knife through butter. Kylo is taken aback by the spite in your movement— like your intention was to truly tear through him. He can sense the rebellion in your soul, how it weighs you down.

You pretend that Kylo Ren does not know you, but he knows the contents of your heart like the back of his hand— You want to battle him, you want to fight the pull he has on you; but you are lured to him, like a Siren. He knows all your faces, even the ones tucked away behind that elegant mask he picked out just for you. He knows the parts that resent him, despite himself— They keep him grounded, remind him of what he has to lose and what to gain. Kylo Ren has learned to stray from the parts you long for, the ones you feel are redemptive.

Your heart is good, genuine, and it pains him. Good, genuine hearts do not survive the reign of the First Order, but he will not tell you that— not truly. The words spill out as a warning, a reminder to watch your tongue.

There are many things he can hide away from the commanding officers surrounding him— but he fears that one day he will no longer be able to hide them from himself.

Your heart is one of them.

He knows he's lost you— to whatever rebellion brewing in you, but he denies it.

And he will deny it, for as long as he can.

Because admitting it means admitting your treason, and he cannot bring himself to that point yet. 

And he wonders, gazing at you with dark, young eyes, if he ever will. 

He wants his eyes to be ancient, like his predecessor— but you know what men like him, _like Vader,_ are. Children, donned in black, wanting to play dress up. Vader's eyes must have been as young and fiery as his.

Kylo's steps echo across the walls, a stark reminder that the two of you are isolated in a dark room, illuminated only by the swelling fizzle of scarlet and sapphire, conflicting beautifully to form a regal amethyst.

A confession sits on your tongue, slick and sickening like poison. Kylo feels it in his bones, and he begs you, _pleads_ , with his eyes. They are stone but weak.

Because the words that threaten to spill from your sweet, _sweet_ mouth would mean accepting that he's lost you.

And losing you would mean losing himself.

You plead, in turn. Your eyes soften, _a beg_ , needing to let those words free. But you _can't_ , and you know that, but how badly they wish to pour from your insides. So instead, you release the tiniest of whimpers:

_"Ben..."_

Kylo's rage curdles with a scream, _"NO!"_

And then he jolts forward, denying the name that you spoke, the treachery of your voice. His saber swings, and you block it, allowing him this win because you know hearing his name was such a loss to him.

The spar continues, like two pythons winding around each other with a threat in both fangs. Kylo is harsh but analytical, which is conflicted by your soft and chaotic counters. The fight itself is not of malice— simply a training exercise, but the two of you always make it a mind game.

_Ben, Ben, Ben,_ echoes in his brain like a curse, like a plague. That's what you are to him now— a dirty plague, _a system error._

There's a flash of limbs, and you're pressed up against a black wall, Kylo's forearm digging in the skin of your throat. His thigh pins your abdomen, and his spare arm keeps your left one under lock and key. You sputter, for you've never seen this rage before— pure, unadulterated, _self loathing rage._

There's something more tragic about this kind— The way that it is directed less at you, and more at himself. You know his face— Kylo Ren's expressions never leave anything to the imagination. He is in a desperate, dangerous plea to you. _Do not make this choice; We will never be able to go back._

He fears you will turn, fears you will see him for what he truly is— _a coward._

But the sympathetic curve of your brows tells him too much— _you already see it._

_But,_ he considers, _maybe you see it, and do not resent him. Maybe you see it, and accept it._ He is aware it is simply a dreamer's wish. 

It is the highest form of that dangerous word— to see the cowardice, to see the flaw, to see the core of another human, and love it the same. To see it and embrace it. 

And as you stare into those giant orbs, face the fear and exhaustion with a fiery passion, a promise to embrace him, you sense the reluctance. You sense the shame. It is easy to be with Kylo Ren when he is calm, when he simply _is._ It is times like now, his arm three inches deep in your throat, that it is harder. It is easy to be with him when he's content, when he's hiding the pain— it is harder when everything comes crashing down as once in a violent fire, and he is both the extinguisher and the gas fueling it. 

Kylo scoffs at your weakness, _mocks_ it. The conflict in your mind about him aches him deep, but he won't express that. 

He _can't._

When he doesn't sense the same rage boiling in you, and it dawns on him that he has become an abuser, nearly choking a deeply rignteous girl for seeing a light future for him, he releases you; Kylo scoffs again, as if to rid the emotions brewing in his abdomen, and storms off to have a childish tantrum in the safety of his quarters.

He can't see the same future for himself, and it frustrates him to no end. 

All he sees is black.

And it is a goddamn tragedy.


End file.
